Toe smashing 259/365

I stayed up LATE working on the lightning article. And then I got up early to put a nail in that coffin. (It is done! It”ll be published the first week of September and you can tell me if it’s useful — or at least if the cow joke lands.) I didn’t head out the door for my 20-mile run until it was already in the 90s. It took about a mile for me to decide to swap my Saturday and Sunday runs. 12 miles it would be. Eliot had the kids at Asa’s soccer game, and I figured I’d sit down to a few hours of work after my run. But it turned out there was a long break between games, and they all came home for an hour just as I was finishing. I felt like my usual post-run salted slug self, so I was both happy to get to see Asa’s second game and dreading sitting in the sun and heat. I might have been the tiniest bit grumpy when I finished off my iced coffee 5 minutes into the game.

I survived, but the whole thing might have affected my depth perception because when I rushed barefoot into my bedroom closet, I rammed my small toe into the corner of the door. If I’d been trying to kick the door down, I wouldn’t have hit it with more force. I wish could remember what I needed so desperately. I’m sitting with an ice pack on my toe remembering how I broke my foot the last time I was on a US team. Send me good toe healing thoughts.

I did something similar (well, not counting the whole “being on the US team” thing) when I kicked a pair of dirty underwear out of the bathroom. Hopefully the ice and ibuprofen make this a minor issue. And hopefully the closet door survived (although I’m sure it would be more satisfying if it ended up in a splintered heap).